


Iron and Nightshade

by DarkxKirlia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Tom, Deathly Hallows, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fae! Tom, Gratuitous Smut, MY FACE IS RED, Rough Sex, Seelie, Sex, Smut, Unseelie, Unseelie Tom, dark smut, dub-con, evil Tom, fae, faerie - Freeform, i've never written this shit before, seriously, this is pretty...erotic?, witch Hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28228458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkxKirlia/pseuds/DarkxKirlia
Summary: Don't make deals with faeries.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger/Voldemort
Comments: 19
Kudos: 220





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WildKitsune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildKitsune/gifts).



> Dedicated to WildKitsune because it was their fic 'The Stone Remembers' that really made me want to write a faerie tom/hermione fic. :D 
> 
> Heed the tags!
> 
> This was supposed to be for the Apocalyptic Tomione Monster fest but...I'm really late...so sorry about that.

She didn’t know his title.

The villagers didn’t know it. Those few who did only called him, “he who must not be named.” 

They said he was a monster. Horrifying to look upon, and yet so beautiful you could not glance away. He was said to be unlike any of the fae Hermione has dealt with. Most Fae Hermione had met were Seelie-mischievous creatures, demanding of respect, and haughty, but not evil per se. The few Unseelie she’d met were unpleasant, to say the least, but not above Hermione’s talents to handle. 

But not him. He was considered the worst of the worst. That’s why they locked him away, far into the Forbidden Forest in a place where even the werewolves wouldn’t dare tread and in a prison made of iron and nightshade. 

And that was exactly where Hermione was headed. 

The trees were thick and dense, the canopy above blocking out enough light that the only thing that kept Hermione upright and walking was the lit lantern swinging gently from her hand. Where only minutes before the forest had been alive with the sound of fauna and flora, the only sound Hermione heard now was the crunch of dead leaves under her feet as she walked. Roots rose above the ground and curved and wove together, creating giant roadblocks that Hermione had to painstakingly climb over, scratching up her palms in the process. 

She had been walking for hours now, and she was sure she was getting close. She could feel it, the thick tension of magic in the air buzzing across her skin, skittering curiously like a toddler poking at a bruise. The magic was powerful and dark, but not currently threatening. Hermione didn’t take that as a good sign. 

As she climbed over another root and plopped down on the other side, she caught the glint of metal shining off her lantern. Hermione squinted, taking another careful step closer as she sought to make out the metal. As she got closer, Hermione was able to make out shapes and colors. 

And realized his ‘prison’ was not a prison at all, but a set of heavy, intricately woven iron chains curled around a pale lithe body, chained to a giant English Oaktree. The chains were carved with runes, and braided with branches of dark nightshade berries. Hermione held her lantern closer to make out details, and ahead of raven black hair pulled back. Hermione jumped, taking a hurried step backward with a gasp. 

Hooded scarlet eyes pierced through her, settling an icy chill in the pit of her stomach. His features were almost human in the typical way fae features are. High, pointed cheekbones, slitted, cat-like eyes, slightly elongated features, and pointed ears. His pallor was not quite human either, more of a light gray than deathly pale. Rising from his hairline she was surprised to find not the regular horns of most fae, those that resembled goat or ram horns. Instead, his were more like the antlers of a deer, only Hermione had never seen a deer with black antlers. Most grotesquely, she saw his wings. She thought for sure they would have just ripped them off his back when they imprisoned him. Instead, They were nailed to the tree by large iron spikes, three in each wing, dried, crusted blood coating them. It was clear from the shape of them he had tried to rip them free but had been unable to fully remove them. Now, they barely twitched. 

“Hmm,” He hummed lowly, and Hermione jumped, “Hello little witch. You’re the first company I’ve had in awhile.” His voice was low and husky, slightly hoarse from disuse but enchanting. Hermione swallowed heavily, wetting her lips with her tongue. His eyes traced the nervous action carefully but said nothing of it. 

Back in the village, Hermione had rehearsed what she would say. Been very careful, as one ought to be when facing the fae. Not that she was before him, all of her words and careful planning fled from her. She had her lips parted, tongue ready to move but no words to speak. She was frozen in place, both terrified and mesmerized. 

He cocked his head to the side, only briefly wincing as it moved the iron wrapped around his neck. “Don’t be shy,” He cooed, eyes glinting, “I’m incapable of so much as putting a finger on you,” His eyes trailed her body, then looked back up to lock gazes. “No matter how much I may want to.” 

Hermione’s mouth was dry. Her fingers gripped hold of the lantern so tight her fingers turned white. Her feet were firmly planted to the ground and yet she thought she may fall or run at any second, the instinct of hunted prey coursing through her. 

It was several long, silent seconds before Hermione regained her words. 

“You’re he-who-must-not-be-named?” She asked quietly, voice barely a whisper. Mirth shined in his red eyes. 

“Is that what they’re calling me?” He asked, sounding profoundly amused. “Rather dramatic, but I suppose I like the sound of it.”

“You could tell me your name,” 

The fae showed his teeth, his incisors were far sharper than any humans. “Surely you’re too smart to ask me that,” He chided. 

Hermione shrugged. “It was worth a shot.” She chewed her bottom lip, sizing him up once more. Despite his demeanor and the wild, dark magic swirling in the air, he looked completely subdued. He was right; he couldn’t hurt her right now. 

“Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve been chained up here?” 

“Not exactly, but I’d say a couple of decades.” 

She nodded. “Twenty years,” Hermione wiped her sweating palm on her skirt, and dearly hoped he didn’t notice the nervous sweat building on her brow and neck. “My grandmother was one of the enchanters who sealed you away,” She thought that would entice him, or perhaps enrage him. He didn’t seem phased.

“I know,” He replied swiftly, “I could smell it.” Hermione shifted uncomfortably, and briefly considered ending the conversation there and heading back to the village empty-handed. Instead, she took a deep breath and steeled herself. They had tried everything else; risky as it was, this was their only option now. 

Hermione took a deep breath. “Do you know of the Unseelie Lord Grindelwald?” He didn’t have to respond for Hermione to know he did; recognition had shined in his eyes right away, and something she couldn’t be certain of, but thought looked awfully a lot like rage. 

“We’re acquainted,” He answered briskly. Hermione took another steadying breath and set her pack down on the ground, reaching in and pulling out something that immediately made the Unseelie snarl and lunge for her. She settled it in the palm of her hand and held it out tauntingly. 

“Ambrosia from the fae lands,” She promised, though she was certain he already knew its authenticity. She took a brave step closer, his eyes tracking the ambrosia with a feral hunger. Hermione hid the ambrosia behind her back, his cat-like eyes snapping back to meet hers. “Grindelwald has declared war on all humans. He’s been destroying villages, murdering entire towns, enslaving witches and wizards. It won’t be long before he comes to my village. Tell me how to protect my people from him and his army, and the ambrosia is yours.” 

He stared at her for the longest time, a smooth, incalculable expression on his face. He seemed to be sizing her up, considering her words. 

“Very well,” He agreed swiftly. Hermione blinked owlishly in surprise. “I will tell you how to fend off Grindelwald in exchange for the ambrosia,” Everything in Hermione screamed that this was a trick. She had expected him to argue, to barter with her. She had come prepared to compromise, she had brought honey nectar and healing salve to sweeten the deal. Never would she have expected he would take the first offer. It wasn’t the way of the fae. Was he that desperate? Or was there something she wasn’t seeing? 

He waited patiently as Hermione scrambled to think over what he’d said, to consider if there were a trick or manipulation in his words. The fae, even Unseelie, had to keep any verbal agreements they made, and so they did not make them lightly. But their agreements were also usually filled with loopholes that could be taken advantage of. Even the fae Hermione was friendliest with would make her manipulative verbal agreements, out of habit if nothing else. 

“In exchange for the ambrosia in my hand, you will tell me of a way to fend off the faerie Grindelwald and his army?” She repeated slowly, adding what she worried he had missed on purpose. He rolled his eyes as if this was a waste of his time. 

“I swear that in exchange for the ambrosia you hold in your dainty little hand that I will tell you of a way to fend off the faerie Grindelwald and his army,” He answered, sounding bored now. Hesitantly, worried she was still being tricked, she pulled the ambrosia back out from behind her back. His eyes zeroed in on it immediately and then flicked up to meet hers. “Food first,” he demanded. 

Hermione stepped towards him, holding the slice of ambrosia up to his lips. Faeries usually demanded humans hold up their end of the bargain first since humans weren’t bound by verbal agreements beyond their morals. She watched as he parted his mouth and took a small bite of the ambrosia, his eyes closing and a low moan of ecstasy humming in the back of his throat. The sound sent a jolt of heat through Hermione’s stomach, her cheeks turning pink. She hoped he wouldn’t look up at her, but it was a pointless worry to have. His attention was fully on enjoying the ambrosia, taking small, savory bites. 

When he had nearly finished the ambrosia, he flicked his tongue out to lick the last crumbs off of her fingertips, and then a fang sunk down at a speed she wasn’t prepared for. His fang pierced the delicate skin of her finger, and Hermione jolted back with a startled gasp, pulling her hand to her chest. 

He laughed joyfully, eyes gleaming with malicious amusement as Hermione pulled her hand back to watch as blood pooled in the small wound and began to trail down her finger. She glared at him, wrapping her hand in her skirts and taking another step back, stopping just in front of her pack. 

“How do I stop Grindelwald?” She demanded, no longer afraid but angry. She should have expected that and was angrier at herself than him for being careless. 

“There is a Seelie faerie known by the name of Dumbledore. He has a magic bond to Grindelwald and is the only Seelie fae capable of stopping him. He lives in the human realm, in a village northwest of your own about fifty miles. Last I checked anyway, I have been here a while.” He taunted easily, licking his lips and eyeing her up. Hermione pulled her pack back on and grabbed her lantern off of the ground. 

“Enjoy the Forest,” She said, as politely as she could. Even chained up, it did not do well to insult. Even if she was being a bit snarky.

“Please do come back and tell me of your great victory against him.”

* * *

Hermione trudged her way through the forest, making her way back to the chained Unseelie. He was expecting her this time, head up, a vicious smile curled across his lips. His eyes shined at the sight of her. Hermione could not return the sentiment. 

“You tricked me,” She accused, glaring openly at him. 

“I did no such thing,” He replied evenly, “I gave you accurate information to the best of my ability. Surely you found Dumbledore?” Hermione crossed her arms across her chest. 

“I did,” She answered. He glanced her over. 

“And surely you realized he was powerful enough to stop Grindelwald,” 

Hermione dug her nails into her arm, to stop herself from attempting to hex him. “You left out the part where he wouldn’t fight against him,” She insisted, getting more worked up by the second. Her hair, already an untamed mess, began to frizz up with magic, warring with the fae’s errant magic buzzing in the air. 

“I told you about their bond,” 

Hermione hissed, “You didn’t keep your word. How? Is that why they call you a monster?” 

He smirked in such a predatory way that she found herself taking an unwitting step back. “No,” He purred, “They call me a monster for a much better reason than that. And I didn’t break my word; Dumbledore was where I told you he was and he is powerful enough to stop Grindelwald. No magic or power physically stops him from fighting, he merely refuses. I cannot be held accountable for that old fool's choices.” Hermione ground her teeth, fighting back the warring fear and anger boiling inside of her chest. 

“I don’t have time for games, Grindelwald’s forces come closer and closer to my village,” 

He cocked his head, the smirk falling from his face as an inscrutable expression took its place. He shifted, the iron chains and nightshade moving to follow him, burning blisters into his skin. “Little witch, if you truly had no time for games you would’ve already given me what I want. Instead, you attempt to offer me small pleasures in return for you and your entire village's salvation. Does that seem an even trade to you?” 

Hermione was silent. He was right; when she first came out here, she had not expected to walk away with his help. Or, she expected very little in return for her meager offers. She had been foolish to even hope the deal they’d made was satisfactory to him. 

“Freeing you would be counterproductive. You would destroy my village merely out of principle for daring to imprison you here.” 

He hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps,” 

Hermione gave him a confused stare. “Perhaps?” 

His playful grin reappeared, unsettling her more than his blank stare. “I am not a fae driven by principle often. And my freedom from these chains is worth giving up on revenge.” Hermione shook her head, curls beginning to stick to the sweat on her forehead. 

“No, I won’t free you. My grandmother locked you up here for a reason,” His smile fell, and it was the first time she had truly seen him look angry. 

“Then why are you here, witchling? You should be spending time with your little village. You do not have much time left,” Hermione looked up at the spikes in his wings, so covered in blood she couldn’t even make out the color underneath. She looked at his sallow skin, the way any nightshade in contact with his body made black veins sprout up around it. 

“You’re in pain. You’re starving. And most importantly, you’re bored,” She stated firmly, pulling off her pack and beginning to grab her tools out of it. “You help me protect my village and I’ll return here every week. I’ll feed you, apply salve to your wounds, and you can taunt and tease me as you like.” 

His eyes narrowed. “Five times a week,” 

“Two, and I’ll not bargain further,” She warned. “It’s the best deal I’ll give you. If you refuse, at least I’ll die knowing you’ll be stuck here forever as my grandmother wished.” If her taunt affected him, he did not show it. The red of his eyes were darker than normal, and she could tell he was making considerations, going over his options, how he could manipulate the situation. She was prepared for it. She wouldn’t allow him to trick her again. 

“Very well,” He agreed. Hermione nodded and began their first session. She fed him ambrosia, applied salve to all of the wounds she could until she ran out of salve, and then she sat down on the forest floor. Looking sufficiently better now, he watched her curiously. 

“You called me a monster,” He started suddenly. “What did your grandmother say of me?” 

Hermione chewed her bottom lip and shrugged, bringing her cloak closer around her. His magic was stronger now, and though she knew he couldn't use it against her or to escape, it made her feel both hot and cold at the same time, like an adrenaline rush. 

“They rarely spoke of you,” She answered honestly. “Very few in the village even know you are here. When they speak of you, they only call you the monster in the forest or he-who-must-not-be-named. Grandmother died when I was very young, and mother only told me I must ensure you were never free.” 

He hummed thoughtfully as if he found her meager information vastly fascinating. Hermione shifted uncomfortably. 

“That shall get tedious quickly,” He murmured. “You cannot call me he-who-must-not-be-named forever,” 

“You could give me your name,” Hermione offered bluntly. He smiled patronizingly at her as if he found her futile attempt at getting his true name to be infantile but amusing. 

“You could give me yours,” He countered. She pursed her lips. 

“What shall I call you as a nickname?” She asked quickly. 

“Tom,” He answered immediately, baring his teeth in a predatory smile. “That’s the nickname your grandfather gave me,” Hermione shifted nervously. 

“Tom it is,” She answered swiftly, hiding any discomfort easily. 

* * *

When Grindewald’s battalion marched upon Hermione’s village, they did not make it past the gate. Rather, the moment they tried, their skin began to blister and boil, smoke rising as their skin turned dark and began to fall to the ground in rotted strips. Hisses and shrieks of outrage followed, the battalion backing away from the gate with wary eyes. 

Their leader, a shockingly blonde fae male with dark eyes bared his fangs at Hermione as she approached the gate, ensuring to remain a foot behind the barrier. 

“You will regret this, witch!” He snarled hatefully. Hermione couldn’t help the smug smile that curled along the edges of her lips. 

“I think not, sir,” She called back, perhaps a bit too gleefully. “You will find that nothing of fae magic or power may enter this village. A necessary precaution with the state of the world right now, I’m sure you understand,” 

“You dare make presumptions of my understanding?” He snarled back ferociously, the skin of his left hand beginning to drip black sludge. Hermione imagined it must have been his poisoned blood, turned rotted and black from her spell. 

“Nay,” She answered, “only your intelligence. You look to be an extremely intelligent male,” She noted, watching as his shoulders straightened with the compliment, even as he was still spitting rage at her. “I merely implied that my cautious nature would make sense to you, cunning as you are.” 

He narrowed his dark eyes. His wings, a dark silver, fluttered in annoyance at his back. “The Unseelie King will not be pleased,” He hissed, the battalion of troops behind him beginning to back up and turn away. They could see this was not a fight they would win. 

“Please send him my regards,” Hermione watched them march away with the flutter of relief in her blood. Tom’s spell had worked, and she had protected her village. 

For now.

* * *

Tom, it turns out, was the nicest faerie Hermione had ever met. 

That did not relieve her. It only put her more on edge. Each time she appeared through the thicket of trees, backpack in hand, he would greet her like an old friend. Smile, ask her how her day has gone, even ask the state of the village. He did not hurry her, or impatiently demand the salve for his wounds or the ambrosia to curve his hunger. He looked genuinely pleased to see her, as a person. 

Hermione tried not to become comfortable. She knew what he was doing; building a bond between them, endearing himself to her in hopes she would set him free. It was the faerie way to be manipulative, but she’d never met a fae quite so good at it. 

“Any news of Grindelwald?” He asked curiously, a month into their curious arrangement. Hermione offered up another small chunk of ambrosia to him, ignoring the flick of his tongue as he captured a crumb off her finger, a salacious gleam in his eyes informing her it was intentional. 

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “Nothing formal,” She admitted, “but there have been...stirrings.” Tom raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, and Hermione huffed. “It’s just a feeling. An uneasiness. No faerie, Seelie or Unseelie, would leave such an insult to their pride without retribution,” 

“Most wouldn’t,” Tom replied softly, meeting her gaze, “Grindelwald is likely biding his time, working to discover the magic you’ve used to keep him out. He’s failed once; he will not allow himself to fail a second time,” 

Hermione chewed her bottom lip, sitting back on her heels and thinking carefully. The wards wouldn’t hold forever, especially if Grindelwald attempted to dispel them. Furthermore, she wasn’t particularly keen on redoing the wards. The wards required too much of her, constantly sapping away her magic until she had almost none to protect herself with. She had grown weak and lethargic with the daily energy it took just to keep the wards standing. 

Tom’s solution was only a temporary one. He knew, eventually, she would need something else to protect her village with. He was only patiently waiting for her to need his help again. She doubted she could get away without setting him free the next time. 

“What are we reading this time?” Tom asked quietly, snapping Hermione from her reverie. She shook her head a bit, and reached into her backpack, and pulled out her book. She couldn’t help smiling fondly, tracing the faded letters of the cover. 

“The collective works of poet John Donne,” Hermione answered, a chirp in her voice that could only be heard when she spoke of books or knowledge. “I’m rather fond of many of his poems…”

* * *

The faerie that arrived at the gates of Hermione’s village was not Grindelwald or even Unseelie, as she thought. Rather, it was one Albus Dumbledore; the Seelie faerie with a connection to Grindelwald who had refused to help her. 

The elders of the village called Hermione from her work on potions to meet with him, their eyes wild and fearful. Hermione could understand why the moment she stepped out of her hut; while his magical presence was not threatening, it was powerful and all-consuming. It stifled the air, much as Tom’s did, and left her feeling like there was a heavy tome sitting on her chest. 

She approached the village gates, regarding him suspiciously. Unseelie or not, she didn’t trust him. 

“You have made a grave error,” Dumbledore told her, a tinge of regretful sadness in his voice she had never heard from a faerie before. Hermione immediately felt indignant, and stood up straighter, narrowing her eyes on him. 

“Protecting my village? I think not,” She scoffed, too angry to be respectful. Dumbledore’s eyes flashed, but he said nothing of her tone. 

“You should have run,” He warned her, shaking his head. “You cannot conceal what is hidden here, not from him. He will do whatever-”

“Hidden?” Hermione echoed, expression dropping into one of confusion. She glanced over the faerie, wondering if somehow he were lying to her. “There is nothing hidden here. This is a small village there is nothing of conseq-” She cut off at the look on Dumbledore’s face. She could see it- he wholly believed something was hidden here, and that Grindelwald was looking for it. 

“What do you think is hidden here?” She asked lowly. The wind blew ominously as if the air itself could sense her unease. Dumbledore’s expression was grave, his eyes downcast. 

“You and your people should run,” He answered instead. “It’s the only chance you have.” Dumbledore turned on his heel, disappearing in a cloud of fog. Hermione stood at the gate in silence, ruminating over his words. 

Neither her mother nor her grandmother had ever mentioned to Hermione about something hidden here. If it were dangerous or in need of protection, she was certain they would have told her. She was the only witch in this village, it was her responsibility to protect the people from harm. But now, she wasn’t so sure. The Fae did not make claims lightly. Even if Dumbledore is wrong and there is nothing in this village, she would need to be certain. 

Hermione hurried back to her hut, closing and spelling the door behind her. She took the ladder down to her basement, where she did most of her heavy spellwork. It was also where she kept her great grandmother’s grimoire and journals. Hermione had studied them extensively, reading over all of them at least twice. She pulled the dusty but well-cared-for books from the shelf and took a seat to read them over, starting from her grandmother's first journal entry. 

_There are real monsters in this world. Some of them are easy to spot, for they are ugly, deformed, and make no effort to hide their true nature. Some monsters hide in the shadows, who do not interact until you are caught in their web with no hint of escape. Then, there are the monsters who do not look like monsters. They do not act like monsters, but they are the worst of them. They are beautiful, charming, enchanting. They come to you and offer you their aid and their magic. And though it is dangerous, sometimes you have no choice but to accept._

_The fae are a necessary evil for most witches and wizards. We are intricately bound to the world of magic, feel its connection to us in our craft, but we are not magic as they are. Magic exists inside of us and bends to our will, but we are not made of magic. That is reserved for the fae. Witches can only use magic but the fae can create it._

_But though our work with the fae is oftentimes a necessity for the safety and protection of our people, you must never forget who they are. They live by different rules. And you can become their prey without even realizing it._

_I told Harry not to work with Unseelie. I told him not to work with him. I could feel his darkness and mal-intent every time he came within a mile of our village. And though he was nothing but charming and polite, as many of his kind are, I knew he wanted something. I feared what he wanted._

_But Harry was convinced of his control over him. He claimed the Unseelie had made him a deal, and that it could not be broken. My Harry could be so stubborn when he got an idea into his head._

_And then, the very night before my Harry would be gone forever, he told me of his deal with the dark faerie. In return for his power and protection, Harry would give him power in return. Access to the village, to the magic of that inside of it, so long as it did not harm us. He had been misled, and he sought to rectify his mistake before it was too late._

_That night, Harry and I cast a powerful blood ritual to hide the power from the dark faerie. And the next day, my Harry was gone. Ripped apart and strewn from the branches of the trees surrounding the village. Outside my door, the faerie ate his heart, dripping Harry's blood from his face. He smiled, eyes glinting with evil._

_And I knew what he would do, given the chance. So I bound him by blood, calling on the power of the coven, and together we took the dark faerie deep into the forests, where no birds dared to sing and no wolf would hunt. We bound him in iron and nightshade, nailed his wings to an English Oak, and weakened his magic through the blood. I lost most of my fellow witches and wizards. And it was there we left him to rot, where none would find him._

Hermione closed her grandmother’s journal, a thoughtful expression on her face. It was not uncommon for witches and wizards to make deals with the fae in exchange for access to our power. While it was true that the fae could create power, they had to feed on it from an outside source as well. It was not food or water that fae sustained off, but the magic of other beings. That was why Hermione gave Tom ambrosia; it was made of magic from the fae world. 

She had always assumed that the dark faerie was consuming too much magical power. It happened often, fae got greedy, and witches and wizards, children especially, died for it. It caused witches to have miscarriages and stillbirths, for witch children to be born deformed or without any magic at all. Allowed to continue, it would eventually kill off an entire coven. 

But now, Hermione wasn’t sure that was what her grandmother had been talking about. What if it was an object of magical power he had sought out? Something so well hidden, her grandmother’s had never told her about it? 

Dangerous as it was, Hermione only had one way to find out. 


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, final warning, HEED THE TAGS!

The next day, Hermione made her usual trek deep into the forest, where Tom was imprisoned. He gave his usual charming smile at her arrival, but Hermione would have none of it. Instead of feeding him and applying salve to his wounds, Hermione plopped down in front of him on a stump she had conjured, pulled out her grandmother’s journal, and began to read. 

Tom listened quietly, eyes not blinking as he watched her read. When she had finished the first journal entry, Hermione slammed the book closed and looked up at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. 

“What was it you were looking for?” She asked coldly, sliding the journal back into her bag. She pulled out the chunk of ambrosia but made no move to approach him yet. She wanted answers first. 

Tom did not play coy. He licked his chapped lips, a spark of something dangerous in his eyes as he looked her over. “Have you ever heard of the deathly hallows?”

Hermione frowned. “The children’s story? Told to young witches and wizards to make them behave?” Tom chuckled lowly. 

“No, witchling, not a children’s tale. Three powerful magical artifacts that give one power over death itself,” 

Hermione didn’t understand. She shook her head, more confused than ever before. “But you’re a faerie; you’re immortal. Why would you need power over death?” Tom wet his lips, a hungry gleam in his feral gaze. 

“The fae can die, though it is rare. And,” He purred, “If you can control death, you can control the world.” 

“You want to be King of the Fae?” Hermione guessed. Tom leaned forward, iron digging into his throat and leaving burns. 

“I want to be King of everything,” Hermione left their meeting feeling more troubled than relieved. Mostly, she was concerned about how easily he gave her answers. 

The fae did not tell of their intentions unless they were certain you would not be around to hinder them. It would not surprise her if Tom were plotting her gruesome demise every second she was not there with him. Perhaps he even planned it while she was there, thinking of all the ways he could torture her before death. She shuddered. 

As Hermione returned to the village, she saw something that made her freeze in place. Her heart seemed to stop as she caught sight of the large fae army, surrounding her village on all sides. In their hands, they carried not yet lit torches, perfectly ordinary, and easily passed through the barrier around the village. 

Hermione dropped her backpack, turned on her heel, and ran straight back into the forest. She didn’t pause to breathe, to navigate, or ensure the path was safe. She tore through roots and underbrush, climbing over the giant roots recklessly, rough bark leaving cuts and scrapes on her hands and tearing holes in her stockings. The air became eerily still and quiet once again, but the pumping of her heat seemed to make it so much louder than it had ever been. The wind whipped unforgivingly at her face, making her eyes water and redden. 

When she arrived back at Tom’s tree, tears dripped from her eyes, her hair tangled with sticks and leaves. 

“Hello again, my little witch,” He murmured, eyes hooded and dark, a satisfied curl of his lip as he took in the state of her. Hermione couldn’t help the angry sneer she threw at him, even as she coughed and gagged, gasping to take in the air. She knew, intrinsically and without him having to say anything, that he knew this was coming. He’d probably felt it, like a subtle shift in the air that she was too mortal and weak to recognize. 

“You knew,” She spit out as she dry heaved, falling to her knees and clutching at the earth. She didn’t say it out of a sense of betrayal or a desire to make him feel some form of shame for his actions. It was a reminder to herself, a scolding that she should’ve known better. She should’ve never let her guard down, even for a second. 

“You’ll give me what I want now,” He answered simply, smugly. If he weren’t a faerie she would’ve punched him for his condescending tone. As it was, she was still considering it. She was likely going to die anyway, why not go with one final act of defiance? 

“You’re not going to die,” His words were so sharp and succinct that they caught her off guard. He was rarely so hurried. Feeling her lungs calm, she sat back, glancing at him warily. She was positive she hadn’t spoken her thoughts. His eyes, so piercing and dark one second, became calm and persuasive the next. “Give me what I want, Hermione. Free me from my prison and I will save you and your village,” 

Hermione swallowed heavily. He knew her name. He spoke it, like a sweet caress on the wind, a gentle tease and a warning that now, even chained, he had power over her. More power than any bound creature should have. She didn’t want to give into him, especially now that he had her name. She wanted to haggle and bargain, to make another deal that would hold Grindelwald off until she could think of another plan. 

But Hermione was out of time. She was out of options. She could free Tom and save her village and herself, or she could refuse, and everything would be destroyed. 

Hermione took a shuddering, terrified breath. “In exchange for freeing you from your prison, you will protect myself and my village and all those who live inside of it, and you will seek no revenge against us.” She stated firmly. 

Tom’s lips curled up into a smirk. “Not good enough,” Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise. Not good enough? She was giving him exactly what he wanted from day one. What more did he want? “I want you,” 

Hermione’s lips parted in shock, her body jerking backward. “Me?” She repeated. Why did he want her? He could not torture or kill her, it would go against their deal. To be his servant? Wouldn’t that still count as revenge against her? 

“It’s the intent that matters,” He answered smoothly. “I don’t want you for revenge, little witch.” 

“Then why?” She demanded. His eyes were amused but unreadable, his intentions lost to her. And she realized, he wasn’t going to tell her either. That didn’t spell good things. 

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. “In exchange for your freedom and...me,” Hermione said through gritted teeth, “you will protect myself and my village and all those who live inside of it,” He flashed her a victorious smile, incisors nearly shining in the dim rays of light. He gave a single nod, sealing the deal. Hermione felt it wrap around her middle like a vice, dooming her to a fate that was certain to be filled with misery and pain. 

Before she could lose her nerve, she focused her magic on the nightshade and iron chains, disintegrating them, and then the spikes in his wings. She watched with growing dread as Tom gave a long, lithe stretch, raising his arms above his head, the muscles of his shoulders flexing. Before her eyes the holes in his wings healed, the giant gaping holes in the membrane sealing without a scar or flaw in sight. The only evidence of the damage was the remaining blood stains coating his body. 

And his magic…

If she thought it had been heavy before, it was positively suffocating now. It filled the air like a heady fog of warmth and electricity. It poked and prodded at her curiously, covetously, almost as if it were searching for a cave or crevice to sneak into, to enter her bloodstream and fuse with her body. She jolted with a startle at the realization that the magic didn’t just want to be inside her, it wanted to be her. 

“Ah,” Tom moaned out loudly, finally allowing his arms to rest at his sides. His red orbs, brighter than they had ever been, looked down at her. His smirk was still firmly set in place, but it seemed to glow with predatory magic. He took a step in her direction, and Hermione’s body jerked, fighting the urge to stand and make a run for it. Everything inside of her screamed to do so. As it was, despite the terror coursing through her body, she didn’t think her legs would move to stand. 

Hermione huffed and stuttered, “You’ll have to hurry, they’ve probably already started burning it down,” She was barely comprehensible, but Tom seemed to understand her just fine. He took another step, standing only a few feet in front of her now. He cocked his head to the side as he stared at her. 

A moment later, she fell backward, her head colliding with the Earth at the sheer force of magic he exuded. Unlike before, with his errant magic enveloping the space and seeking her out, this was a focused effort, a wave of pure power that rushed past and through her to reach its destination. It left a heady feeling in Hermione’s blood, circulating throughout her body and reaching its peak at her core, leaving her hot and wanting. 

She heard the crunch of leaves beneath her feet a second before Tom appeared in her peripheral. She glanced over through blurred vision. He knelt, his face coming into view as a single finger tilted her chin upwards and towards him. 

“They’re safe,” He told her lightly, eyes watching his finger as it traced over her jaw, trailed over the artery in her neck, and then paused at her exposed collarbone. Hermione wet her lips. 

“What now?” She whispered, half in fear, and the other half a plea, a whimper, a confession to the inferno still burning her alive. A smile, not a smirk, tilted the edges of his perfect mouth. It was self-satisfied, arrogant, but still warm where his smirks had not been. It was gone quickly, his features relaxing into something neutral, but no less beautiful. His eyes darted over her face as if he was attempting to read her thoughts from a mere look. 

“I get to take what’s mine,” She was surprised at the gentleness of his kiss. His lips were a mere wisp of touch against hers, but it sent a jolt of electricity down her throat and straight to her core. A short, barely distinguishable whimper escaped the corners of her mouth. Tom seemed to breathe the sound in, and she could feel rather than see the tell-tale signature smirk curling up his perfect lips. Still, his lips did not press any harder against hers, though his hands found her hips, settling there, holding her in place on the off chance she tried to run. 

She wasn’t going anywhere; she knew her fate was sealed the moment she made the deal. And a sick, twisted, part of her didn’t want to run anyway. If she was being honest with herself, his power intoxicated her. She wanted it; She wanted it to course through her veins, to rage like an inferno inside of her and burn her alive. She wanted the magic to be part of her just as it had seemed to want when it rushed through her. 

Tom’s hands and kisses remained gentle and soft, soothing almost. Hermione realized, with a start, that he was treating her like she was going to break. And for some reason, that pissed her off. Abruptly, she pushed her hands against his chest, sitting up and moving to give herself some space. Tom’s eyes flashed, his lips turning downwards into a scowl. 

“What are you doing?” She demanded with a huff. 

“Trying to break our deal already? You gave yourself to me-”

“-Yeah I know,” Hermione interrupted. Tom’s displeasure grew, but Hermione ignored the spike of fear at the glare he shot her way. “I understand that part. I’m wondering why you’re being so gentle,” Tom’s startled expression changed to delight quickly, his lips curving upwards into an almost coy look. Unease shot down Hermione’s spine. 

“My toys break slower when I’m careful with them,” Right, Hermione thought, fighting the jolt of panic through her heart, maybe I should’ve just kept my mouth shut. Tom glanced her over, red eyes curious. “I plan on keeping you for awhile. I can’t very well do that if you break on the first night,” 

“I’m tougher than I look,” Hermione snapped, only to wince at her outburst a second later. Tom’s glee only seemed to grow, and he sat back on his haunches, cocking his head to the side like a feline as he looked over her flustered and scattered form. 

“Little witch,” He purred playfully, “Are you asking me to be rough with you?” The positive delight in his tone made Hermione wary. Of course, everything about him made Hermione wary. His very existence concerned her and frightened her, and even more so now that he was free. She had always worried they would reach this point; not the sex, she hadn’t thought herself pretty enough for one of the fae to want her, but this type of relationship. That she would end up having to free him and she would either die, be tortured, or be enslaved for all of eternity. Still, something about the way he admitted to keeping her for a while made alarm bells go off in her head and her stomach to clench uncomfortably. 

Even worse though, was the intention of hiding his darkest nature. Since she had first seen him, Hermione had positively ached with the curiosity of what he truly was; what he was capable of. She could feel the power radiate off of him, but the depth of that power was still unknown to her. She wanted to see it, touch it, taste it. She needed to know exactly what she had gotten herself into, so she could prepare. And, secretly, so she could savor it. 

Hermione met his stare boldly. “If I’m going to be your toy,” She answered carefully, “then I would know the truth. To see it for myself.” No sooner had she said it that Hermione felt her legs leave the ground, dangle in the air for a moment, and then land upright as her back collided with the nearest tree. 

The very tree Tom had been chained to only minutes before. 

Hermione’s breath stuttered, her heart threatening to fly out of her chest with fear and anticipation. Tom’s devilish fingers dug into her hips, forming bruises. Their chests were only inches apart, her breasts brushing against his chest with every deep inhale of breath. She looked down, refusing to meet the heat of his stare on her. Instead, she watched as his hands traced over her body, kneading her flesh through her clothes, gliding upwards towards her chest. Hermione held her breath as his fingers glided atop her breasts, but they did not stop there. A moment later, his fingers took hold of each half of her bodice and pulled. Her body jerked forward, the strings of her corset ripping and falling limp. Next, her bodice fell to the ground between them, torn in half. Hermione felt painfully exposed without it, but Tom did not seem keen to stop there. Her dress, slip, and underclothes followed soon after until she was completely exposed. 

Her eyes squeezed shut, waiting for rough and unforgiving hands. She felt Tom shift, leaning forward. Two fingers of both hands traced over her shoulders, a whisper of touches. She felt his hot breath against her ear and a huff of a laugh that sent a shiver down her spine. 

“My silly, sweet little witch,” He murmured, his tongue darting out to trace the shell of her ear. Hermione jumped, and he laughed again. “This will not be quick. I’m going to take my time with you,” Her sweet torment began after that. Where she wanted harsh touches, she had only the tracing of the tip of his fingers, teasing, taunting her. It started at her shoulders, trailed down her arms, searching every crevice and spot of skin. He watched her face keenly for her reactions, his red eyes lighting up when every touch found a sweet spot that made her whimper or gasp. 

His fingers trailed her stomach, and she jolted. They traced her hip bones, and a tiny quiver of noise escaped her lips that made Tom hum in delight. She held her breath as his fingers dipped into the thatch of curls above her core, her entire body trembling. His index finger trailed down, down, down, and then stopped abruptly, a mere centimeter from her clit. Hermione whimpered, arching forward to press herself against him. He pulled his hand away. 

“Beg me,” He ordered, the softness completely having left his voice. His words were cold, harsh, and direct, but somehow still sensual and filled her with so much heat she thought she might combust. 

“You wish,” She snarled back, passion and rage mingling inside of her to create a heady mix of explosive emotions she didn’t begin to know what to do with. She was up, she was down, she was flying and sinking, she was ice and fire, and all things in-between. 

Tom seemed to hesitate at her vehement response, and Hermione moaned in frustration. Why wouldn’t he touch her already? She asked him to be rough. She permitted him. Yet his touches were soft, and- He was torturing her, she realized starkly. Purposely. This was his payback against being locked away for so long. He would torture her with sweetness, and make her addicted to his touch. She would become what her grandmother hated- a slave to a fae. 

Tom seemed to recognize the realization in her eyes. He laughed freely, throwing his head back in exuberant joy. “Don’t worry. We have time,” He cooed, and then Hermione found her body frozen against the tree. He had immobilized her with his magic. She glared at him, jerking her limbs to pry them away to no avail. 

Hermione opened her mouth to retort something scathing, but the only thing that left her mouth was a pleasured gasp. His fingers found her clit, rubbing sweet friction against it. Hermione’s entire body shook, or would have if she could move. As his skillful fingers rubbed, pinched, and tugged at the very center of her pleasure, she felt the rising of icy wind. It started small, and then became freezing, rushing across her bare arms and legs and making her shiver in a mixture of pleasure and cold. He must’ve freed her limbs then, because Hermione wrapped shaking arms around him, digging her fingers into his scalp and rubbing friction across his back. The icy wind teased her, narrowing in on her nipples, making them pebble painfully. It rushed across Tom’s kisses and saliva still clinging to her neck, making her shoulders jerk. 

“P-please,” Hermione gasped, a harsh rush of cold air slicing across her cunt. Her hips jerked upwards, pressing his fingers hard into her clit and causing a short scream to break from Hermione's lips. She was hot and cold, she was in pain and pleasure, and she didn’t know if she wanted it to stop or continue. Her senses were overloaded so much that it took longer than normal for her to recognize the foreign touch of something beyond harsh wind rubbing against her skin. She glanced down, eyes widening at the sight of shadowy tendrils of magic winding up her calves and thighs, one tendril curiously dipping in between her arse cheeks. Hermione’s cheeks glowed brighter red than they ever had before. 

“W-what a-a-ar-e you d-do-doing?” She stuttered out in a mix of fear and anticipation. Tom’s wicked eyes gleamed up as they met hers, and a moment later he began to sink to the ground, his mouth lining up with her mound. His smile was feral, his incisors sharpened to dangerous points. 

“Don’t be frightened,” He cooed, fingers still rubbing circles into her clit. “You’ll enjoy everything I do to you.” Then his mouth descended upon her and she was lost. His lips, tongue, and teeth toyed, teased, and played with her. Nothing comprehensive left Hermione’s mouth after that but an assortment of pleas and moans. His fingers and mouth played with her entrance while the shadowy tendrils of magic rubbed up against her legs and arse, one of the tendrils pushing at her butthole. Hermione tensed up, a shock of stark realization hitting her. Her hips stuttered. 

“W-what? I don’t-I’m not-” Hermione couldn’t get out a coherent sentence. Tom seemed to understand what she was saying anyway. He looked up from her core, his lips wet with her. His eyes were dark and hooded, gleaming with focused desire for her. He kept eye contact as one of his fingers reached back and pressed against her arsehole. She felt a wave of fluid soak the inside of her arse, and then Tom’s head was back between her legs, and the tendril of magic was pressing up against her again, poking the tip inside of her.

The world becomes lost beyond pleasure once more. Heat builds up inside of her with every caress of his tongue or press of fingers against her clit. Even the tendril of magic slowly pushing into her arse arouses her, far more than she ever thought something like that would. She feels something wonderful coming, heightening, ready to explode and burst and fill her with pleasure even greater than this. Just as she sits on the precipice of it, as she reaches for it with hungry, grasping hands, it stops. 

Hermione cries out in protest, realization dawning on her as she sees Tom stand back to his full height before her. She digs her nails into her scalp as punishment, as a plea, for denying her what she wants. Tom either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He grips her thighs and wraps them around his waist and the next second his hard cock is pressed against her cunt and he is inside of her, filling her, stretching her… He pushes inside her and she is whole, and he pulls back and she is deliciously wanting. Her back digs into the bark of the tree, painful and harsh, and she must be bleeding but she doesn’t care because there is no greater pleasure than this moment. And then somehow she is proven wrong again as the tendril of dark magic finally pushes up into her arse fully, and she is more full than she has ever been. It is too much, too much...and somehow not enough. She needs more and can feel that heat inside of her growing higher than before. It will burst and she will come apart at the seams, her soul will flee her body and she is certain it will destroy her despite how much she needs it. 

Tom’s breath is hot and heavy against her neck, his teeth biting into her throat. She will be covered in bruises tomorrow if she manages to live that long. And then she can’t think about tomorrow because finally that heat inside of her has burst, and she is gone; flying high, seizing on pleasure and desire and fulfillment. She has ascended to the skies and she does not ever want to come down. She does, eventually, return to her body, still thrumming with aching pleasure, and she hears what she thinks is a rough snarl of pleasure. Tom’s hips stutter and press against hers as his body is wracked with the same pleasurable shaking of her own. His cum coats the inside of her. 

Hermione pants, eyes hooded and tired as she peers at Tom’s beautiful but animalistic face. Her last thoughts detail how certain she is that mortal men are ruined for her, and then she descends into blissful sleep. 

* * *

When Hermione next wakes, she is filled with the same calm bliss as she fell into sleep with. She is warm and comfortable, fingers running through her tangle of curls, carefully and methodically pulling apart any snarls. She smiles pleasantly, burrowing deeper into the blankets and heat. 

And a few seconds later, Hermione bolts upright, eyes wide and breathing labored with surprise. She stares at Tom, his long, elegant fingers still running through her hair. A small, satisfied smile rests upon his lovely mouth. He is calm and at peace beside her, and it sets her on edge. 

Hermione licks her lips, her mouth dry and parched. “The village?” She croaks out. Tom’s smile turns smug. 

“Safe,” He answered simply. Hermione nods absentmindedly, grateful but confused. As she looked around, she saw her hut, looking no different than it did when she left it. Why would Tom bring her back here? What was his plan? And besides sex, Hermione still didn’t know what he wanted from her. 

“Do you remember the powerful magical artifact hidden in this village by your grandmother?” Hermione freezes. Tom’s words are far too indulgent, too easy-going, and far too self-satisfied. Hermione knows she has been tricked; she just doesn’t know-how. 

She gulps, “Yes,” 

“The artifact was known as the elder wand. It was said to hold the power of the first fae King, who gifted it to the witches in hopes it would protect them from the Unseelie who sought to destroy them. Do you know the nickname of the first fae king?” He asked lightly, tracing patterns on her bare thigh. Hermione shivered and nodded. 

“The Master of Death,” She whispered. Tom purred in delight, leaning down to press a pleased kiss to her temple. 

“The Elder wand had been in the care of your ancestors for generations. I nearly had it for myself, when your grandparents decided to meddle. They used a powerful blood ritual to move the power of the elder wand to a new vessel.” Hermione’s heart stuttered in her chest. 

“What vessel?” She didn’t want to know. She had to know. 

“You.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Also, please let me know how I can do better, specifically when writing smut cuz...that shit makes me embarrassed to write and I think I do a bad job lol.


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